


Lost in the Midst of Malice

by Moonstone_Kat



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Lance (Voltron), Betrayal, Brainwashing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Experimentation, Fights, Fluff, Gen, Gladiator Lance (Voltron), Gladiators, Healing, Homesick Lance (Voltron), Humiliation, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, I forgot how hard tags were, Imprisonment, Injured Lance (Voltron), Insecure Lance (Voltron), Isolation, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Loneliness, Lotor (Voltron) Being an Asshole, Mind Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prison, Quintessence (Voltron), Sexual Harassment, Space Battles, These will all make sense, Things will get better, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Torture, Touch-Starved, Voltron Lion to Paladin Psychic Bond, eventually, it's mental, lion bonding, quintessence manipulation, rip the humor tag, tho not physical
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22181500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonstone_Kat/pseuds/Moonstone_Kat
Summary: When Lance woke, it wasn’t to an Galra alert. He didn’t wake because of Hunk claiming that it was time for him to eat. He didn’t wake because of Allura demanding it was time to train.When Lance woke, he woke to a throbbing head, aching side, and darkness.Luck has run out for Lance when he finds himself captured by the Galra. He's forced to fight to survive, on top of struggling through Haggar messing with his quintessence. But when he finally sees his team again, he's behind bars. The Castle's bars. His team won't talk to him, leaving him isolated with no clue as to what happened.akaKidnapping ft. 1 v. 1 battles, Druid quintessence meddling, a shattered team, and lion and paladin troubles
Comments: 16
Kudos: 222





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi ya'll!!  
> So, I'm excited to share this fic, I've been wanting to write it for a while, and one thing to note is that this is not set in canon, I'm kinda choosing what events I want to show up. Essentially though, Lance pilots Blue, Keith still pilots Red, and Shiro has Black. They've spent a good amount of time in space by now, so they've settled into their roles (for now)  
> That's pretty much all you need to know, so, without further ado, enjoy!

Ow ow  _ ow _

Lance wakes up to a throbbing head and an aching side. Groaning, he pushes himself into a sitting position, his back supported by the wall behind him. He rubs the back of his head as he opens his eyes to try and see where he is.

He can’t see anything.

Lance raises a hand in front of his face. The darkness persists. Slowly, gingerly, he moves a finger towards his eye. It hits his eyeball and he rapidly recoils, muttering,  _ “Ouch _ that was a bad idea.”

But if his eyes are open and he can’t see anything, then what’s happening?

You see, this darkness that Lance woke up to is not the darkness of the night sky, where tiny pinpricks of light illuminate the landscape. No, it’s not that kind of dark. This dark is the dark that takes away your vision, leaving your eyes straining as they search for any type of sign for where you are or what happened. It’s the kind of dark that fuels imaginations of monsters hiding in wait for you, crouching under beds or clinging to ceilings. It’s the kind of dark that leaves you uneasy, wishing for a flashlight so you could see what might be lurking within it.

And Lance woke up to it alone.

So, Lance does the next logical thing once he figures out he’s unable to see. He pokes himself in the eye again.

“OW,  _ quiznack, _ my eyes are definitely open.”

Now that it is confirmed that his eyes are indeed open and seeing, he strains to see anything in the area around him. His eyes can’t pick up anything in the darkness, so he moves to stand, ignoring the pain that radiates from his side.

Metal scrapes in metal, and with a jolt, Lance realizes that his legs are cuffed together.

His heart drops. It really did happen. He got kidnapped by the Galra.

See, they had gotten a distress call from a planet in the Varizak system. So, as the Paladins of Voltron, they upheld their duties as the guardians of the vast universe and went to rescue them. The planet was overrun with Galra. Like, majorly overrun. The planet was almost glowing purple from how much the Galra had taken over. There were only a few small patches where the native greenery shown through.

So, they landed in the biggest patch of green they could find. Pidge scouted ahead, while Lance was sent to act as a sniper for her. He climbed the trees, moving along the tree-tops as best he could until they reached Galra buildings. Lance had paused, taking in the patrol patterns in the short amount of time before Pidge started moving again. She was quick, and Lance had to hurry to follow her. He kept his eyes on the area around Pidge, but they darted up from time to time. His goal was to protect Pidge, but to do that, he had to find a perch.

There.

It was a tall building, tall enough that it reached above the others. Towards the top of the building, facing the Galra expanse, was a flat area. It was more of a design choice than a balcony.

Lance had made his way to the perch. It took a little bit of jumping and pulling himself up with only his arms, but he made it. Immediately, he had his bayard out, scanning the area around Pidge for those that might be able to hurt her.

Pidge, though, was smart. She used her small size to her advantage, hiding behind low walls and scurrying along in the shadows.

Lance, on the other hand, was out in the open, barely hidden from below and certainly not hidden from other buildings of similar but slightly smaller height. Lance was aware of this, taking brief glances at the buildings around him to make sure no one had him in their sights.

The mission proceed as planned. Pidge was able to hack a computer and gather data, while Lance watched her from above. She made her way back to the forest with no problem.

Lance’s coms had crackled, and Allura said, “Lance, hold your position. Pidge has reported to us the security measures the Galra occupying this planet have. We need to infiltrate the main base, the one with a Galra command ship hovering over it, and this needs to be done manually. We will use the Black Lion as a distraction, but we are sending out Pidge again and will need you to cover her again.”

“Roger that, Princess,” Lance had replied.

He then shuffled away from the edge of the ledge to try and hide better. Not for the first time, he frowned at his bright white armor. It really wasn’t good for stealth missions. Pidge, at least, got a black cloak to run around in. Lance wanted one. He could’ve been batman, except with a rifle instead of batarangs.

Lance had seen Black descending through the clouds, tail cannon ready to fire, when he heard a chuckle behind him.

“How lucky I am to have stumbled upon the Blue paladin,” the Galran soldier said with a wide, toothy grin. “The Empire would pay a lovely price for your capture.” 

Lance won’t lie. He panicked. He whirled around, bringing his rifle up to fire, but in the process he took a step back. That was his downfall. Literally.

He tumbled off the ledge, speeding towards the ground. Blue wouldn’t make it in time to save him. She was too far away. His team was distracted, working on completing their mission. There was no one paying attention to his fall. No one except the soldier, who looked down at him falling with a sharp grin.

Lance ended up hitting a balcony halfway down the building and blacked out.

And now, he sits in the darkness alone.

Is he captured? Yep. By the Galra? Most likely. There wasn’t really anyone else around who would chain his legs together and keep him in a pitch black metal room.

So. Galra then. That’s… a little worrisome. The last time they had captured a paladin- a soon-to-be paladin?- they replaced his arm with a robotic, Galra-evil-quintessence one. Lance reaaaaally doesn’t want to lose a limb. He likes being 100% human with all body parts attached, thank you very much.

But even if all of his limbs stay attached, he’s still wary. There are whispers running around the galaxy, whispers of the Galran Druids digging into people’s minds and rooting around, experimenting to try and achieve  _ something. _ He doesn’t know what that something is, and it worries him. If they have access to his mind, they’d be able to figure out Voltron’s secrets. Their plans. He may always be given all the information, but he knows enough that it could seriously cripple Voltron’s operations.

Unfortunately, there’s not really much Lance can do at the moment that includes anything outside of this cell.

So instead of worrying about it, Lance reaches out with his hands carefully, wincing as it sends a stabbing pain through his side. He should explore his cell, see if he can escape. It’s not really likely, but Lance is determined to do as much as he can to help his team find him.

He’s still a little miffed as to why they would cuff his feet together instead of his hands. He assumes it’s so he can’t run, but like, really? Lance is pretty sure that having his hands cuffed would be more comfortable. He can’t stretch with the cuffs around his legs. Plus, he would like the ability to walk.

“HEY!” Lance yells. “YOU GUYS SHOULD CHAIN MY ARMS. THEN I CAN’T CHOKE YOU WHEN YOU COME DRAG ME TO WHEREVER I KNOW YOU’LL DRAG ME.”

The words bounce off the metal, but that’s all he hears. There’s no reply. Lance just shrugs. He wasn’t really expecting much, but it was worth a try.

Since he’s most definitely alone, with no one to blame him for exploring, Lance puts his back to the wall before scooting sideways. He doesn’t know how large the cell is, and he doesn’t want to get lost in the dark. He needs to keep himself oriented. As he moves along the wall, his arms are outstretched, cautiously feeling for the wall or whatever will appear. He hopes he bumps into a bed. Even just a cot that could be pulled from the wall would be nice.

Lance makes it around the entire room, only changing direction when he hits a wall. And that’s it. The only things in this room are walls. Lance doubts that there would be anything in the middle of the room. It would interfere too much when the Galra come to drag their prisoner out.

So. He’s stuck here. No armor, a throbbing head and side, his legs cuffed while his arms are strangely free, and no way to contact his team.

Sighing, Lance tilts his head back until it rests against the wall. He closes his eyes. There’s really no point in keeping them open when it’s pitch black.

He hopes Blue is okay. He left her in the jungle, and he doesn’t know if anyone else was able to fly her back to the Castle. Or maybe they liberated the planet. Then she’d be safe on its surface. Blue is precious to him, and he doesn’t want to see her hurt.

Wait. 

Blue. 

They have a bond. Maybe he can reach her through it!

Keeping his eyes closed, Lance reaches blindly for the thruming feeling he associates with the quintessence bond. It’s not something that he can physically feel. It’s more something that floats in the vast space of his consciousness, almost like a doorway, for a lack of better words, to the quintessence field that exists in another dimension. It’s through this doorway that Lance is connected to Blue.

When Lance finds the bond, a smile breaks out across his face. It’s thin, so thin that it looks as if it might snap if touched, but it’s there. He hesitantly reaches for the bond, but when he touches it, the most he gets is a faint pulse of worry. That’s not good. He tries to push further into the bond, but it grows thinner. Lance hastily withdraws.

He can’t contact his team.

Lance almost starts crying at the thought. There’s a difference in being alone and confirming that you are alone. When you exist by yourself, without others around, you know in the back of your head that there are people you can reach out to. But when you confirm that you are alone, that there is no one you can lean on who can support and guide you, the world becomes a much scarier place. 

Lance, knowing that he’s alone, that he can’t reach out to Blue or his team because he’s been captured by the Galra, wants to cry. His eyes water, but he bites his lip. He won’t let himself cry. He doesn’t know when someone will come to grab him. He doesn’t want to show weakness to his captors.

So, instead of crying, he shuts his eyes tighter, focusing on the bond instead.

The color of the quintessence bond draws him in. If you asked Lance, he would say the bond glows blue, although it’s not something visible to the human eye. The idea that the bond is blue is more connected to the feelings he associates with the bond; feelings of freedom and ocean and calm.

The feeling of freedom comes from the joy he gets when he flies together with Blue through the skies. He associates the feeling of freedom with blue, for while he’s been to many planets with many different colored skies, to him, a natural sky will be blue. The color of Earth’s sky.

The feeling of the ocean, Lance believes, comes from Blue’s powers. The bond conveys a feeling of rocking back and forth through the waves, along with an almost tangible smell of salty air. He associates this feeling with the color blue because, as with the sky, the natural color of an ocean will forever be blue to him like the ones on Earth.

The feeling of calm, though, has nothing to do with Earth. This one has to do with Blue herself. She’s an anchor, able to help him sort through his emotions. If he’s panicking, she’ll be there, a stable presence able to calm him. She helps him stay focused during fights, and has a soothing rumble that echoes across the bond when they finish a mission. Calm comes from Blue, so blue represents calm.

Lance holds onto these feelings, to this color, as he’s huddled against the wall in the dark. It keeps him centered. Stable. He knows he can’t reach Blue or his team, but to even feel the bond between him and Blue reminds him that he’s not isolated. It reminds him that there is hope.

Lance keeps close to the bond until a hiss, accompanied by a blinding light, breaks his concentration. The bond slips through his fingers, leaving him feeling disoriented and just the smallest bit scared.

Footsteps echo in the cell.

“Get up,” a rough voice growls.

“I find the floor rather comfortable,” Lance retorts. It’s not hard to figure out what’s happening, and Lance will not go without a fight.

“Shut up, paladin. You are to be delivered to the bridge,” the Galra guard says.

Lance’s eyes are still closed, but he forces himself to squint at the figure before him. His eyes water, but he can see that there’s only two of them.

He can take them. Maybe. Probably. There’s no harm in trying, right?

Lance’s hand darts out, grabbing the guard’s leg. “I think  _ you’d-” _ he yanks, sending the guard tumbling to the ground- “enjoy the floor as well.”

He lunges for the other guard, but a hand snags the cuffs on his ankles. He tumbles to the floor, his chin hitting the metal with an audible  _ clack. _ A foot digs into his already-injured rib. Lance lets out a yelp.

“Don’t try that again,” the guard growls.

Welp. Apparently there’s a lot of harm in trying.

Lance is forced to his feet, although he can’t walk. The guards grab his arm and start dragging him through the hallway. Lance almost prefers it to the hopping he would have to do with these cuffs on.

He’s dragged through an endless number of hallways, all of which look identical. Lance really wishes they would post a map of the place or something so he would know where to escape to when he breaks free. His sense of direction will be screwed if he has to find his way through these halls alone.

The little group reaches a tall set of doors. Lance gulps. Someone important must be in there. Or it’s the command deck. Or both.

One of the guards knocks on the door. The doors slide open. Lance is tossed into the room, landing in a heap on the ground. “Watch it!” he yelps.

The guards leave without a backward glance, and Lance’s hand goes to rub his side. It freezes when the person in the room speaks.

“Hello, Blue Paladin." Her voice is like sandpaper. "How kind of you to join us.”

Lance spins around. Behind him stands Haggar.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya'll! I'm back!! It took a little while to figure out how to get where I want to be with this story, but I managed.  
> Enjoy!!

Lance freezes.

Haggar stands by a window, her back to Lance. He’s not foolish. He knows that she’s aware of his every move. He opts to stay silent. Haggar tends to be a bit of a wild card. He knows that much from the meetings the team has. She works for Zarkon, yes, but she also has her own agendas in mind.

Lance doesn’t know what will happen next.

Probably something to do with Haggar’s magic. That’s essentially what she does: experiments on various people and messes with their quintessence.

Haggar turns. Her face is hidden within the shadow of the hood.

“What? No words from the infamous blabbermouth?” Haggar asks.

Lance takes a deep breath, but bites his lip, wary. When he doesn’t answer, Haggar glides forward. She grips his chin tight, bending down to stare into his eyes, as if searching for something. Her own glimmer in the low light. Lance tries to pull away, but Haggar’s nails dig into his skin. He winces.

“Now now, Blue Paladin. Hold  _ still,” _ Haggar hisses.

Lance freezes as she continues to study him. There’s a flash of satisfaction in her eyes, and she pulls back.

“Unfortunately,” Haggar says, “I have no time to experiment on you. You have great amounts of potential, but Zakon demands my services. I shall have to leave within the varga.”

Lance wants to smirk, but he knows there’s a catch. There must be. They wouldn’t just leave him in his cell.

“Zarkon should have no need for the useless Blue Paladin. So, in the meantime, Lotor shall shelter you until I can return.”

There it is.

Quiznack.

None of the team had actually met or fought Lotor, but they’ve seen his tactics. Unlike Zarkon, he’s more subtle. He attacks where you aren’t expecting, leaving ruin behind him. He leaves planets shattered, unable to rebuild. He’s worse than Zarkon in that, while he may not conquer vast swathes of the universe, the planets he does conquer are left reeling. Those planets are the hardest to pull back together.

And quiznack. Lance doesn’t know what’ll happen if he’s under this maniac’s ‘care’. 

Haggar picks up on Lance’s fear, letting out a short bark of laughter. “Don’t worry, Paladin. He won’t break you. He’ll just shatter you enough that I can carry out my experiments without having to worry about your pesky little will.”

Lance narrows his eyes, a cross between a sickly-sweet smile and a sneer gracing his face. “Yeah, well you can go fuck yourself. You’ll get  _ nothing _ from me.”

Haggar hums, hands behind her back. “We shall see, now won’t we.”

The doors behind Lance hiss open, and Lance is dragged from the room. Lance struggles the entire way, managing to land a few solid kicks on the Galra dragging him along. They retaliate with swift blows to his head or tightened grips on his arms, but Lance doesn’t get up. He’d rather not see Lotor, thank you very much.

The soldiers manage to drag him to a fighter bay. A small ship lies in the center of the room, powered on and ready to go. The door hisses open.

A slim figure walks down the ramp. He wears a black, streamlined set of armor, accented with dark shades of blue and lighter shades of purple. The armor acts almost like an Earthen tailcoat, two long swathes of fabric flowing out behind him. His pants are black, almost blending into the tailcoat, but his heavy-duty, knee-high boots show where his legs are. They reach almost to his knees, accented with blue and purple like his armor.

Lance struggles against the grips on his arms. It does nothing. The figure halts in front of him.

His hair is long and white, reaching the small of his back. Surprisingly, he doesn’t have any of the cat-like features the Galra tend to have. His skin is still tinted purple like a normal Galra, but his skin is smooth. His ears look Earthen, but are pulled into points rather than rounded.

The person eyes Lance up and down, as if evaluating him. Just like Haggar did.

“Put him on the ship,” he commands, jerking his head back towards the ship he came out of. “I have an excellent idea of where to put him.”

This is Lotor.

As the soldiers drag Lance past him, Lance makes a lunge for the Prince, managing to free one of his arms to take a swing. The Prince stepsides it, and has the gall to  _ laugh. _

“You have spirit,” Lotor announces, a smirk on his face. “I like that.”

Lance gives into the childish urge to stick out his tongue at his enemy.

Lotor steps up to Lance, grabbing his chin, and practically  _ purrs, _ “We’ll see how long it lasts.”

Lance jerks back, using the momentum to kick his feet out. They glance off of Lotor’s arm. Lotor’s face darkens. He steps forward, marks appearing under his eyes, glowing white. Like Allura’s. His hand reaches out for Lance’s forehead. Lance tries to backpedal, struggling against the grips on his arms.

Fingers rest against this forehead, and Lance falls unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, updates will be a little at random, 'cause my other multi-chapter fic takes priority, but I will never abandon a story I'm working on. I'll do my best to at least update this every other week, which means chapter lengths will vary wildly as I'll just be writing this scene by scene
> 
> Also, I'm changing Lotor a bit, just in terms of his outfit and abilities, as you've already noticed. He has not met the paladins, nor will he ever meet them on friendly terms, so if any of ya'll are looking for a friendly Lotor, my apologies, but it isn't gonna happen
> 
> Anywho, I'll see ya'll next time!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! I'm back!! It's been a while but essentially I'm posting chapters when I get them done, although I am hoping to pick up the pace on this one. I've got some time, so I'll definitely be working on it. This chapter is still just getting things rolling, and then next chapter events should start to happen. Also,, just a heads up, if ya'll are Lotor fans idk if you wanna be reading this story
> 
> Anywho, enjoy!!

Lance wakes up to yet another dark room. He’s getting  _ sick _ of not being able to see.

“Quiznacking FIGHT ME ALREADY,” Lance screams into the pitch black.

Unlike last time, there’s a mechanical-tinged chuckle that echoes around the room. Lance shivers as it bounces in his ears, loud and, dare he say, maniacal. He waits as it dies out, unconsciously shifting so his legs are curled up in front of him. He expects someone to talk, after that. Lotor, specifically. But when the laugh dies, Lance is plunged back into complete silence.

Lance gives up on the hope that he’ll figure out what will happen to him. He’s unsettled now. On edge. The unknown coupled with the knowledge that he’s in the clutches of a dictator known for his cruelty and viciousness doesn’t sit well. If he were able, he would run, but. Well. He’s stuck in a cell, legs chained, so there’s no chance of that.

Time starts to slip as Lance sits on the floor. He doesn’t explore the room. It’s probably the same as the last cell. The Galra Empire is unimaginative like that. So, the only thing to occupy him is his own thoughts.

Lance doesn’t particularly like his thoughts. If left alone with them for too long, they tend to turn cruel and painful. Instead, he tries to occupy his thoughts with stories. Stories he remembers Mama reading him back in Cuba. Stories he read late at night, under the covers with a flashlight when everyone else was asleep. Stories he made up when the Garrison was so unbearably dull that anything was better than nothing.

He cycles through them, but soon, the stories start to quiet and his thoughts grow louder. So he abandons the stories and draws himself back to his bond with Blue.

It’s a safe place. A quiet place, draped in a soft blue light that assures calm and fights the feeling of loneliness.

Lance’s eyes drift close, and he sits in silence, entranced by the bond.

The door hisses open.

“About time,” Lance says with a slight sneer, as if he runs the place. 

He receives a blow to the back of his head as a reward for speaking, but Lance welcomes it. It means, while he’s blinded by the hallway light, he knows where the soldier is. Seconds after the hand retreats, Lance lunges towards the Galran soldier. He makes contact with the soldier midriff, hearing an ‘oof’ as he careens face first into the armor. The Galra falls to the ground. Lance rolls off the soldier, sprinting for the light. He still can’t see, but if he gets to the hallway, it should be a straight shot. To where, he doesn’t care. At least it gets him away.

Lance crashes into the ground, the second soldier on top of him.

Another pair of hands, the soldier from earlier, hauls him harshly to his feet. “If you try that again, the soldier, clearly female, growls, “I will rip your intestines out and  _ strangle you with them.” _

Lance stiffens, but bites out, “I’d like to see you try.”

The soldier laughs darkly. “Try? For a paladin, you are quite idiotic, wishing that upon yourself.”

The other soldier steps forward, his voice silky smooth as he says, “Luckily for you, Paladin, you seem to have caught the General’s attention.”

“As fun as it is to have lovely people drool over me, I don’t  _ appreciate-” _ Lance swings his legs up, ignoring the most-likely-broken-one as he uses the soldiers grip for leverage- “the attention!”

Unfortunately, the kick misses. Lance is dropped to the floor, his side hitting the metal flooring hard. A scream forces itself out of his mouth, and he curls up on his side, forcing himself to breathe when his body refuses to.

“Hmpf. Watch yourself, Paladin,” the female soldier says, maliciousness hiding behind her voice. “We wouldn’t want any unfortunate  _ accidents _ , now would we.”

Lance doesn’t have the breath to retorte as they grab his arms and drag him down the hallway.

They take a few turns, Lance yet again getting lost. Everything still looks the same. Great. Lance closes his eyes and focuses on breathing. The pain in his side is piercing, and if he doesn’t focus on his breathing, he might end up screaming from the pain.

The draw to a stop outside a large door. Lance mentally rolls his eyes. He would bet his bond with Blue that Lotor is behind them.

The doors slide open and, surprise surprise, it’s Lotor.

The Galran is sitting in a chair opposite the door, his legs crossed. He’s writing on a tablet in front of him, and when he lays eyes on Lance, he sets it to the side. He leans forward, setting his chin on his fist, grinning as he says, “Hello, Paladin. How good it is to see you again.”

Lance, tossed on the floor in front of Lotor, spits at him through gritted teeth. “Can’t say I return the sentiment.”

Lotor watches dispassionately as the saliva lands on the floor next to his boot. Lance mourns the fact that it didn’t hit before his aching side draws his attention again.

“You might want to consider your next actions and words very carefully,” Lotor says, stressing the last two words. He dismisses the guards with a wave of his hands, and Lance forces down the anxiety as the doors seal shut behind them.

“You see,” Lotor continues, sitting back in his chair. “I hold your fate in my hands.”

“So what,” Lance snaps, struggling into a sitting position. “Big deal.”

Lotor raises an eyebrow. “Indeed, it is a big deal, being the Blue Paladin.” There’s a glint in his eye Lance doesn’t like. “You are a member of Voltron, one of the most elusive enemies of the Galra Empire. You are, from what I can see through footage, a decent warrior.”

Lance scots back as Lotor reaches from him. Lotor’s claws manage to snag Lance’s chin like he did earlier before he forced Lance into unconsciousness. The gleam in his eyes brightens, and Lance shudders as the eyes rove up and down his body. The claws detach from his skin, but Lotor’s fingers  _ caress _ the side of Lance’s face.

“On top of that, Lance, you are quite exquisite,” Lotor says softly with a sharp grin on his face.

_ Quiznack, _ no. 

Lance is immensely grateful that it’s his feet that are chained. One of his hands slaps Lotor’s own hand from his chin. The other throws a punch at Lotor’s smug, lecherous face. The crunch when it connects is satisfying as hell, leaving Lance grinning as he scrambles backwards. He ignores the pain in his leg and his sides. The doors are shut, so he looks around the room, scanning for either a way out or a weapon.

His eyes fall on the tablet beside the chair Lotor is reeling back into. That’s the only weapon available for him. Everything else is connected to a panel or the ground.

Lance lunges for the tablet. His hand swipes it off the table, sending it to the ground. It shatters against the metal. Lotor, now, has recovered. His hand darts out and snatches Lance’s wrist, pulling his hand away from the glass shards. He bodily jerks Lance away from the shards, throwing him to the ground.

Lotor sits back in his chair, glaring coldy down at Lance despite the way his eyes gleam. “That was quite bold, Paladin.”

“Yeah, well, you’re quite handsy,” Lance answers immediately, despite the pain. “Yes I am a gorgeous piece of art, but that means you keep your hands  _ off.” _

Lotor hums. When he speaks, he talks almost as if he hadn’t heard Lance. “The rumors of your obnoxious talking are not unfounded.”

Lance glares at him. “Yeah? Well I bet you just drone on and on and bore people to death. The only reason your soldiers listen is ‘cause you got daddy Zarkon backing you up.”

Lotor is on his feet and backhanding Lance across the face in an instant. “Everything I have gained I have gained through my own merit,” he hisses. “Unlike a certain Paladin who can barely hold his own on as a member of Voltron.”

Lance pushes the sting of the comment aside, instead focusing on Lotor’s reaction. A sore spot. He stores this mental note on a list he calls, ‘to piss off the overgrown purple smurf’.

Lotor turns on his heel and stalks towards the door, yelling for the guards. The guards scramble in, snapping to attention beneath Lotor’s anger.

“Take him to the cryo-pods.” For a moment, Lance thinks things will turn out okay. “Once he’s out, toss him in the arena.”

Lance freezes.

The arena. Surely not  _ the _ arena, right? The one Shiro fought in? The one where Shiro gained the title of Champion?

Lotor, as if hearing Lance’s thoughts, grins at Lance. “Haggar just wants you alive. The arena should do a nice job of breaking you.”

Lance is lifted upwards by the guards, and he doesn’t waste a second. He starts struggling, throwing his weight around and kicking his chained legs in a futile attempt to break free. They drag him past Lotor. He kicks with his legs, but the kick falls short. His injured leg smacks against the ground and he grits his teeth to try and keep from screaming. Lotor, standing to the side, leers down at him, as if finding Lance’s struggles amusing.

“Don’t worry, paladin. You will live,” Lotor says in a mock semblance of comfort. “After all, you are one of the more… interesting things to come across my path.”

Lance is dragged to the cryo room and tossed into a pod. The glass hisses shut. Lance pounds on it, once, twice, and then the cold seeps in and he remembers no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, now we get to see Lance in the arena! I'm excited to write it but not excited for how it'll affect him. Next chapter will probably almost immediately start off in the arena, so there's some things to look forward to/fear this next chapter.
> 
> I'll see ya'll next chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI PLEASE READ THIS IT'S IMPORTANT  
> So here's the thing. I changed the warning tags to 'Graphic Depictions of Violence' 'cause Lance is going to fight in the arena. he's gonna have to kill. I don't exactly know when to use the tag, like what's severe enough to consider it's use, but also he's in the arena for a significant portion of the fic in the beginning and I would like to make sure ya'll stay safe. I don't exactly describe it in detail (cause gore isn't my thing) but I just want ya'll to be aware that he does get injured and he does injure + kill other beings

The glass hisses open and Lance falls from the cryo pod. Before he’s even fully aware of what’s happening, he’s being dragged through the halls. Woozily, he thinks he should fight back, but his limbs won’t respond properly.

He’s thrown in a cell. It has bars instead of walls, and on the other side lies the arena.

Lance shakes his head, trying to clear it, but it hurts instead. Great. That was _such_ a smart idea. He lies down, closing his eyes to try and stop the pounding in his head. It goes away shortly, but Lance stays on the dirt-like ground. 

It takes a few minutes for his head to clear. Thankfully, he’s not thrown into the arena while he’s recovering. If he had been, he didn’t think the fight would have gone well. He relies on his coordination during his fight, and with the state he’s in right now, he would have tripped over his own feet. 

Lance sits up, and the ground, thankfully, does not spin beneath him. A glance out to the arena shows the stands still filling (and isn’t that a horrible thought- people want to watch him struggle for his life). He’s still got time.

There’s no weapon he can see in the arena. There isn’t one in his cage either. He’s a little worried. He can’t fight hand to hand. Not well. Shiro, at least, had a built in weapon. Lance feels awful thinking that, knowing what he went through to get it, but right now, he’d trade anything for a way to survive the arena. His best chance would be via a gun, but the range a gun has means he won’t get one. They wouldn’t want him to kill their Galra comrades, after all.

So. Maybe a sword?

Yikes. He hopes not. He wouldn’t know how to use it. Lance really wishes he had taken up Keith’s offer of hand to hand now.

Though a sword might be better than his bare hands.

Lance knows that this will be a fight to the death. Shiro had gone through as much. This means he’s going to have to- to actually kill someone.

He has before. They’re fighting a war, after all. But he’s never been up close to the person he’s killed. It’s always been from a distance, with his gun or with Blue as he decimates ships. He’s never had to feel blood on his hands or see the life drain from someone’s eyes.

That’s about to change today.

The bars on the ship side swing open, and two Galran soldiers enter. One takes off Lance’s ankle cuffs without speaking, while the other trains his gun on Lance. A sword is thrown into the ground beside him, and the soldiers back out of the cage. The bars clang shut, and the bars on the arena side swing open.

With shaking hands, Lance picks up the sword. He stares towards the arena, but his feet don’t move. He doesn’t want to fight.

Electricity crackles behind him. Lance glances back to see what looks like a cattle prod being extended towards him. With a quiet yelp, he moves away just as it reaches the spot he was in. Unfortunately, he’s now in the arena. The bars swing shut behind him.

The moment he stepped into the arena, a roar grew amongst the crowd. It grows louder and louder until Lance is fighting the urge to cover his ears as the Galran audience stomps their feet and yells.

Across the arena, another cage swings open.

Lance holds his breath.

Out steps a wolf. A space wolf.

Lance releases a shaky sigh of relief. It’s okay. It’s only a wolf. It’s an animal. Not… not a person.

The wolf fixes its eyes on Lance, and Lance stiffens when he sees the glint of hunger in it’s pink eyes.

It charges, sprinting across the dirt floor. It’s a straight shot to where Lance stands. Lance realizes this and moves. He runs to the side, towards a rocky column. The arena is littered with them, creating a mock sense of being outside in the desert.

Lance is still holding the sword when he reaches the column. He drops it to the ground and jumps for a handhold on the column. He finds one. He reaches with the other hand, pulling himself up. He doesn’t want to fight. If he can hide he’ll hide. At least at the top of the column, he’ll be out of reach of the wolf.

The wolf skids to a halt underneath Lance. It’s purple-streaked-pink fur ripples, and for a moment, as Lance pulls himself higher, he feels relief.

The purple-pink fur sparks, and then the wolf is above Lance, falling towards him with claws outstretched.

Lance yelps, losing his grip on the column. He tumbles towards the ground, landing with a nasty ‘crack’. It might be his leg. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t have time to care. He rolls to the side, just in time for the wolf to land. It’s claws gouge into the sandy ground.

There’s nowhere he can escape.

The only option left is to fight.

Lance snatches the sword up, the weight both uncomfortable and unfamiliar in his hand. Keith uses a sword. How did Keith look when he used his sword? He fought one-handed. Lance doesn’t think he has that muscle or grace. Two-handed it is.

The wolf lunges. Lance dives to the side, hitting the ground hard. He’s up in an instant, but the wolf is upon him again. He dodges again.

Was there a stance? Was there techniques? Lance doesn’t know. He really really doesn’t.

As he dodges again, he decides, fuck it. There’s no time to worry about technique, as long as he can use the sword well enough to live, it doesn’t matter. He can ask for sword lessons when Voltron finds him.

Lance dodges to the side as the wolf lunges, but this time, he swings the sword two-handed into the path the wolf is aiming for. It scratches the wolf down the side, but it survives.

The wolf backs off, eyeing Lance warily. Lance is thankful for the moment of reprieve. He tightens his grip on the sword.

The hunger finally overrides the wolf’s survival instinct, and it charges again. Dodging and slashing probably won’t work again. This thing is smart.

It’s fur sparks, and it’s gone in a flash. It bites down on his leg from behind, and Lance screams. It drags him across the floor. Lance fights through the pain, one hand digging into the ground. There’s a weight in his other hand. The sword! He twists around as best he can, and the swings at the wolf. The sword hits, sinking into the wolf’s chest with a squelch that makes his stomach turn.

The wolf’s jaw is locked tight on his legs even as it’s lifeforce drains. Lance shoves the sword in deeper with a strength born from pure adrenaline.

The wolf staggers, and then it’s legs collapse underneath it. It falls to the ground, drawing a scream from Lance as it’s teeth tear his flesh even further.

It doesn’t move again.

Soldiers jeer at Lance, throwing things towards the arena. They wanted to see him die. None actually hit him though, as he’s close to the middle of the arena. Lance, though, doesn’t respond. Instead, he stares at the wolf for a moment, uncomprehending. It takes a few moments for it to finally hit him. 

He killed it. 

Blood flows down his leg, a mix of his own and bright pink blood from the wolf. His clothes are stained with it. Bile rises in Lance's throat as he realizes he actually killed the wolf. He killed a living creature.

He swallows it down. He needed to do this. He needed to survive. It was him or the wolf.

His eyes fill with tears nonetheless.

* * *

Lance hasn’t said a word since he was taken out of the arena. He sits in the corner of his cell, staring off into the darkness. His mind is blank, and yet he can feel the warmth of the blood. He can feel the weight of the sword in his hands, and the jaw on his leg going limp.

He blinks rapidly. No no no stop thinking about it.

His hands fall to the cuffs that have been reattached to his ankles. He tugs at them, but it accomplishes nothing. It just pulls at the skin they’re clamped tight around. His hands wander further up his left leg, dancing over the bandages.

His leg had, in fact, broken when he fell from the rock column. And then the wolf bit the same leg. Lance had hoped he would get thrown in a cryo pod when he was dragged from the arena, but instead he was brought to what looked like some type of infirmary. His first thought was ‘oh no. I hope they don’t replace my limb.’ It really wasn’t that much of a stretch considering they replaced Shiro’s healthy limb.

Fortunately, his leg is still attached. The medic had slathered some sort of gel on his leg. Healing gel maybe? Hopefully. Lance doesn’t think he can walk on a broken leg. Then his leg had been forced into a splint and bandaged.

Now he sits in his cell, trying to keep his mind blank as he waits for what comes next. 

He hopes he’s not thrown back into the arena. He doesn’t know if he could deal with killing something again. With feeling everything that went with it. He hates the arena already. He doesn’t know how Shiro survived it, if he was forced to fight people.

He misses Shiro.

He misses everyone.

He misses Hunk, his best friend with big warm hugs that would lift him off his feet. He misses listening to Pidge babble about the latest piece of tech she was dissecting, despite the fact that he only understood about half her words. He misses Coran, and the stories he tells. He misses Allura, who would do skincare routines with him and put up with his antics. He misses Shiro’s calm assuredness that things will work out okay.

He misses Mama. He’s tried not to think about how much he misses her, misses his family, but here in the dark there’s nothing else to do. He wants to be back at home, sitting in the other room playing with his nephew and niece while Mama cooks in the kitchen and Papa and his abuelos sit in the other room chatting. He misses the teasing remarks from his older siblings, no matter how annoying they got.

Lance realizes he’s been picking at his bandages. He smooths them down again with a couple of fingers and curls his hands into fists, wrapping them around his good leg. He rests his chain against his arm, closing his eyes.

Lance looks for his bond with Blue. It’s still thin. He watches it quietly, watching the blue glow pulse. Tentatively, he reaches for it. It starts to thin underneath his mental prodding so he pulls back. He gives it one last longing look before opening his eyes with a sigh.

The doors hiss open and fear fills Lance. He scrambles backwards. He doesn’t want to go back to the arena.

Hands haul him to his feet, dragging him, yet again, to Lotor’s command room.

He’s thrown to the ground.

A hand lifts Lance’s chin, forcing his eyes to meet with Lotor’s. “Broken so soon, Paladin?” Lotor asks.

Lotor’s tone is light, and Lance feels rage welling up at the sound. A cross between a snarl and a smirk twists his lips, and he jerks his head back, biting at Lotor’s fingers. Lotor jerks his hand back just in time.

Lance meets Lotor’s eyes. “Not now, not ever,” he says spitefully. “Not because of some sick maniac like you.”

Lotor plants a boot on Lance’s shoulder, sending him sprawling back. “And yet, you cried at the death of a mere wolf.”

Lance struggles to sit back up as Lotor leans forward and whispers, “What, do you think, will happen when you finally have to kill a person?”

Lance freezes. His eyes widen as he says, “You wouldn’t.”

Lotor relaxes back into his chair. “You’re right. I wouldn’t.” He pauses, before adding, “At least, not yet. It’s far too fun to see you break down over a mere animal. You shall continue to fight animals for a time.”

Lance bites his lip. He’ll… he’ll fight people eventually. He knows Lotor would love to see the emotional turmoil it throws Lance into. But he’ll be okay for now. No people.

“Awww, don’t worry Lance,” Lotor says with mocking comfort. “When the time comes I’m sure you’ll be a natural.”

Lance fights the urge to lunge for Lotor to wipe that smug smile off his face. His leg couldn’t take it. The decision, though, is taken out of his hands when Lotor calls for the guards. As they drag him out of the room, Lance sticks his tongue out at Lotor. He would’ve flipped him off, but unfortunately, his arms are being used to drag him across the floor.

He ends up back in the corner, in the dark, with only the light of his bond with Blue for comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yay! I'm happy with this chapter, I think I wrote it well, and I hope ya'll enjoyed!! Let me know what you thought. I'll see ya'll next chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with another chapter!! Just a heads up here and now as time goes on the situation will be getting worse, along with Lance's mental state (if that isn't already obvious) so I would appreciate it if y'all, if you have any problems with this, would be careful in reading my fic. I want y'all to stay safe. I'll be updating the tags as I go and making sure everything is current

Lance is allowed to rest the next few days.  _ Allowed _ to. He almost gags at the word. It makes it sound like Lotor is giving him kindness. Like he’s being merciful instead of waiting for some sick twisted reason, like letting Lance heal just so he can be hurt again. Just the thought of it makes Lance angry. He doesn’t want to be someone’s plaything.

Thankfully, he’s not been forced to visit Lotor. Lance probably would have tried something dumb if he had been. Like murdering- no. no. Lance backs away from the thought. No killing. Even the thought of it makes him feel queasy and shaky. He’d probably just sock Lotor in the jaw or something.

A slot at the bottom of the cell door hisses open, light streaming through and shining on the dull metal. It’s the only time he’s able to see in the cell. It’s something at least. He can confirm that there’s  _ definitely _ no furniture in here.

He scrambles over to the door, snatching the tray before the slot closes and he’s no longer able to see. He leans against the wall next to the door, setting the tray in his lap.

There’s no silverware. That could easily be used as a weapon. The food tends to be either in a bowl or something he can easily eat with his hands. It is edible, although what he’s eating is always a mystery. Space food bears little resemblance to Earthen food, which is simultaneously a blessing and a curse. It won’t remind him of home, but he doesn’t exactly trust it either.

Today he gets a jello-like substance, along with something he’d termed as bread. It’s got the same consistency so it works. The jello stuff has the same consistency as, well, jello. It’s shaped into little cubes though, so it’s not the space goo they have back on the Castle.

Lance scarfs the food down. He only gets a limited time before the guards come banging on his cell door, demanding the tray and (if he has one) bowl back. If he doesn’t hand them out in time, they march into the cell and forcefully take them. He would rather avoid that.

Lance finishes the food and shoves the tray back into place by the slot. He scoots back to the far corner of the cell, curling up with his back to the wall. Like he has the past few days. At least he’s learned how to tune out his thoughts pretty well. If he starts overthinking things it can get kinda nasty.

He closes his eyes, looking at his bond with Blue. It’s kind of his go-to thing to do now that thinking is a no-go. It’s comforting, and time flows fast. 

Their bond is still there. Still precariously thin. He has no doubt that if he drew near, it would fray. He doesn’t know why. He wants to say because of the distance between them, even though he has no idea how far away he is. But that wouldn’t make sense. Quintessence doesn’t exactly conform to space or time. That leaves Druid interference as the most likely option. Haggar is involved in all of… this. His kidnapping and imprisonment with Lotor. She’d want to isolate him, to keep the rest of his team from finding him.

Lance huffs, pushing away those thoughts. If he lingers, he’ll start to spiral into what-ifs. 

_ Ugh. _ Overthinking is the worst.

Positive thoughts. Positive thoughts are good. They’ll keep him from spiraling into what-ifs. 

He’ll be okay. His team is looking for him. They’ll be pouring over star maps and hunting down Galra ships to get him back. They’ll find him, no matter how long it takes. Lance wouldn't give it more than a month before they rescue him.

The door hisses open. Lanc clenches his teeth, fighting back the frustrated sigh. He doesn’t try and look towards whoever’s coming in. He’d get blinded like the last five times he tried. Instead, he waits until hands grab his arms, intent on dragging him from the cell.

Lance lashes out, ripping an arm free. He swings it at whatever’s within his reach, but it’s immediately recaptured.

Whatever. He can still fight. Since his last encounter with Lotor, Lance is determined not to give up. To not give in. That maniac is determined to break him and Lance  _ will not _ let it happen.

A blow to the back of Lance’s head dazes him. His struggling weakens, despite his best efforts.

He knows where they’re bringing him. There’s really only one reason why he’d be let out of his cell after days of being left in the dark.

They’re putting him in the Arena.

He’s thrown into the holding cell, proving his suspicions correct. The ankle cuffs are removed, and a sword clatters to the ground beside him. Lance grips it tight. The opposite door opens, and Lance shuffles out onto the dirt floor, cattle prods threatening a shock if he doesn’t. This time, the arena is covered in spotted, neon weeping willows.

Out of the other wall steps a pink bear the size of a small house. Lance gulps, his knuckles whitening as he tightens his grip.

He won’t let himself die. Not before his friends can save him.

* * *

Lance stumbles to the side, away from the space bear lying motionless beneath a neon willow. He did it. He survived.

Not won, never won, he doesn’t want to kill he just needs to survive

There’s a large gash down his back where the bear caught him while he was fleeing. It drips blood. Lance doesn’t know how deep it is. All he knows is that his shirt is becoming rapidly saturated with blood.

He drops his sword, realizing it’s still within his hand. He clenches his teeth, willing the bile rising in his throat to disappear. He’s okay. He’s okay.

His hands are shaking.

Lance forces his hands to move to his sides, gripping the fabric of his pants tightly. He sucks in a breath, letting it out slowly. He closes his eyes, tuning out the yells from the crowd. He draws near to the bond, looking at the blue glow. Looking but never touching.

He needs the comfort he gets from seeing their bond. He  _ needs _ it. He doesn’t get genuine kindness here. It’s always superficial, a cover for something more sinister. It’s been- what? A week? -since he’s seen his friends. His team. He’s been forced to kill, he’s had to put up with Lotor, and he really really needs someone to tell him things will be okay.

Lance is cuffed and dragged from the arena. As he looks at the hallways, he disatantly wonders if he’ll be able to tell them apart if he keeps being dragged across the ship. The guards clearly know their way around without a map. Maybe he’ll learn.

He’s thrown to the ground at Lotor’s feet. The guards leave the room like the previous times he’s seen Lotor.

“Well well,” Lotor hums. “Despite your… fiery determination last time, you seem to be broken yet again.”

Lance’s head shoots up and he bares his teeth. “Fuck you.”

“Ah.” Lotor leans forward, a sly grin on his face. “There it is.”

“What do you even get from this?!” Lance hisses. “A sick sense of satisfaction? Is it all just one twisted, messed up power trip?!”

Lotor studies Lance for a moment, face impassive. Lance stubbornly holds eye contact. Finally Lotor, with a drawling voice and a quirk of his lips, says, “Maybe I’m just bored. Maybe I  _ like _ seeing you struggle as you fight, paladin. Struggle both against your opponent and your morals. What petty things those are, morals. But they do make for an interesting show. And even if you know the reason, what does it matter? You’re still here. You’ll still fight. You’ll still  _ kill. _ There’s simply nothing you can do about it.”

Lance’s breath catches, and he forces himself to sneer saying, “Ah. So it’s all of the above. Ding ding ding, I got the answer right. You’re just someone with pathetic delusions of grandeur.”

“My my, Lance.” Lotor claps slowly. “I think you must have used up all of your vocabulary to put together that sentence.”

Lance splutters, trying to come up with a response, hating the smirk that grows on Lotor’s face. He settles on, “You didn’t deny it.” It makes him feel a little pathetic. It’s not even a proper insult.

Lotor waves his hand dismissively. “Whether or not they’re delusions, I still hold the power of armies at my fingertips. I’m one of the top strategists in the Empire; I have conquered countless planets. I have made myself an indispensable force. Can you say the same?”

“See, here’s the thing,” Lance says, a smug look taking over his face. “I am a paladin. The Lions are quite picky about who they choose, and I, out of all those who exist in the universe, was chosen.”

“But are you truly indispensable?” Lotor asks, leaning forward with a perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched. “Your status as paladin is determined by Lion, not by your own merit. What guarantees your place as paladin?”

Lance falters at Lotor’s words. Lotor sees this and laughs, saying, “Something to think about I see. I have quite enjoyed our talk today, and as much as I would like to extend it, I believe you are losing too much blood for an… Earthling, was it?” Lotor waves the guards in. “Until next time, Blue Paladin.”

Lance snarls, his lunge for Lotor interrupted by the hands yanking him back. He pushes Lotor’s words to the back of his mind. He will not let Lotor break him. He’s lying. He’s a bastard and he’s lying, he’d do and say anything to try and break Lance.

Lance is dragged to the infirmary. He tries to make a run for it, although whether it’s to punch Lotor or find an escape pod he doesn’t know. He doesn’t get far. But at least his back is bandaged now. He was desperately in need of the bandages and healing gel. He was starting to get light headed from the blood loss.

Lance ends up back in his cell in the dark, left with nothing but his thoughts. Great. Back to overthinking it is. He pushes away Lotor’s words as best as he can. 

He has a place on his team. He’s needed. Even better, he’s  _ wanted. _ They wouldn’t abandon him. They’ll find him. He’s probably deep within Galra territory, considering the fact that he’s fighting at the arena, so it’ll take a while for his friends to find him. To fight their way to him and rescue him.

He knows this, but still…

  
_ Please hurry, _ he thinks, sending the thought towards the bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a tiny reference in this to a minor detail in my previous fic which makes me happy. I'll be working on this as much as I can and update as soon as the next chapter is ready
> 
> I'll see y'all next time!


End file.
